


the honeymoon

by disequilibrium



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disequilibrium/pseuds/disequilibrium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they've never done things the usual way</p>
            </blockquote>





	the honeymoon

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 1d prompt challenge on tumblr, http://1dpromptchallenges.tumblr.com/
> 
> prompt: use the words "ice crystals", "candles" and "cooking"

 

 

His teeth chatter in the cold. Icicles loom down around him, long and jagged, dripping at the ends. The whistle of the wind is low and constant. He can feel it whipping around outside, thrashing against the impenetrable black of the night, throwing ice crystals against the stubborn land.

In here, at least, he feels only a whisper of its fury against the flesh of his cheeks.

His headlamp is a narrow, blue stream of light through the darkness. He weaves his way between thick columns of ice, all folded over themselves like long-burned candles’ wax; a slow, steady, eternal melt in this perpetual winter. He treks deep down, until the ice gives way to solid stone, until the howling of the wind is nothing more than a nagging thought in the back of his mind.

A soft, purple flame and a second head lamp are the first things he sees when he rounds the last corner. Niall looks up when he hears him approach, the crunch of ice cleats on rock. His smile is soft.

“Cooking something?” Harry asks, once he’s near. Sound wanders so easily here. A whisper could travel for hours, but he wants to be close enough when he speaks. He doesn’t want the shadows listening in.

It doesn’t smell like much more than stove gas, but Niall’s leaning over the pot, poking at it. When he laughs, it echoes off the slick rock around them.

“Yeah. Some dehydrated… something.”

Their packs are set beside him, dishes out. Little metal bowls. The fine China of sub-zero adventures. Harry makes his way over, sets down his two pots of packed-in snow and crouches to peer at the one on the stove.

“I think this was chicken, once. Thai chicken.”

Niall hums, stirs it with his spork. The sound tethers Harry to this place and this time. It might be the last thing he remembers, Niall hunched in his bright red jacket, toque pulled firmly over his eyebrows, nose pink and eyes bright. Making a soft sound of affirmation, expecting nothing, content just to be. He might sink into it just after he takes his last breath. It’s a morbid thought, but Harry’s not so scared of it any more. He knows his life will have been one worth living.

They eat their dinner, curled together and protected from the ghastly cold by layers of polyester and fleece. The food is hot, and it scalds Harry’s tongue quite pleasantly. They put the snow on the stove and leave it to boil, pack everything else away. Set up the tent, because Niall insists, because he wants to check the weather one last time and then crawl straight to bed.

The storm didn’t last forever. Together they creep through the ice, and they hear that the wind has died. The sky is shades of dark purple, pinprick stars. Like blue-green dust, the aurora borealis shivers and folds. Dances. Niall cries, again. Weeps when it swirls pink. And Harry loves him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! any comments/feedback/kudos are much appreciated. if you loved it, you can also reblog/like it on tumblr here: http://nialljustgotwet.tumblr.com/post/134375227713/ice-crystals-cooking-candles


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